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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29719476">a poem.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/quingjulian/pseuds/quingjulian'>quingjulian</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>OMORI (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Healing, M/M, Self Confidence Issues, Short One Shot, marihero only mentioned lolol, no beta we die like men, sunny has a speech impediment</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:47:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>435</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29719476</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/quingjulian/pseuds/quingjulian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>sunny writes a poem dedicated to whom he loves most. lowercase is intended.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Basil/Sunny (OMORI), Hero/Mari (OMORI), mentioned</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>101</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a poem.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“ah! polly is calling me, i’ll talk to you later, ok?” basil stuttered through the amplified speakers of sunny’s cellphone.</p><p>“ok... see you luh... later. see you later, basil.” sunny choked out, hanging up on him. how embarrassing.</p><p>two years. two years since the confession. </p><p>two years since he moved from faraway. two years since sunny started speaking again. </p><p>two years since he had started going back to school. two years since he has started taking speech therapy. </p><p>two years since he had gotten diagnosed with ptsd.</p><p>two years...</p><p>such a small amount of lifetime can feel like forever. he was eighteen, almost nineteen now... strange to think about.</p><p>although, two years is nothing compared to the four that he spent shutting himself out. what a disgrace.</p><p>poetry. a few months ago, he had picked up poetry. his therapist had recommended it as a coping mechanism. ‘a way to express emotion’, they had phrased it. it all sounded like mush in his head now.</p><p>he opened the drawer next to him, taking out a calligraphy pen and some paper from a small compartment. he decided that he was going to write a poem. more of an unsent letter, if you think about it. </p><p>basil. oh, basil. this stupid, timid, annoying, beautiful... stop it. now isn’t the time, sunny. gush about him in your poem, not your inner monologue.</p><p>his ears darkened a light shade of red. he wasn’t familiar with romance. his sister was dating hero, sure, but other than that he had no experience in “first kisses” or... other things like that. almost nineteen and a virgin. fucking weirdo.</p><p>he began writing, writing his name and the date at the top of the paper</p><p>well at least he still remembers that...</p><p>he began writing the poem. it read,</p><p>“flowers.</p><p>basil flowers.</p><p>i see plants outside my window, and i think of you.</p><p>you. </p><p>i’m afraid to say it, but i’m in love with you.</p><p>all of you.</p><p>the way you garden.</p><p>the way you dress. </p><p>the way you speak.</p><p>the way your eyes shimmer when you cry.</p><p>the way your face flushed when your embarrassed.</p><p>the way your chest rises and falls when you sleep.</p><p>all of it. </p><p>basil flowers. </p><p>so delicate, so gentle.</p><p>so beautiful.</p><p>you’re beautiful </p><p>to me. </p><p>- sunny.”</p><p>a strong sigh left his lungs. “i ca-can’t continue to do this... it isn’t good for me...” he groaned as he put his hands in his hair.</p><p>he crumpled up the paper, and threw it in the small trash can near his feet.</p><p>“maybe another day,” he thought to himself.</p><p>maybe another day.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ahhh hi!!! i love these two. so, i decided to project lol!!!!!!! they’re healing guys... should i write basil pov?? lmk..</p></blockquote></div></div>
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